Sympathetic Magic
by nostalgia
Summary: Not all cultures have the same perspectives.


Title: Sympathetic Magic  
Author: nostalgia  
Rating: R for PRON OMG  
Disclaimer: I don't own these fictional people. Someone else does, and would probably disapprove of these things. Oh, well.  
Summary: Like affects like.  
Notes: I blame Lil' Red and her obssession with the hero sperms, yo. Beta'd by Lyssie, Qwirky and RoseWildIrish.

* * *

He's pretty sure he has Teyla all figured out. Past the words and the phrasing, she never says anything he doesn't really understand. She's got a nature thing going on, but no worse than some of the people he met in California. Sure, there's a cultural barrier, sometimes, but no big deal.

Sympathetic magic, he thinks. Throw water on the ground to make it rain, stick pins in a doll when someone pisses you off. Teyla's fingers trace a line along his inner thigh and, oh yeah, sympathetic magic...

Tomorrow they plant the harvest, and tonight they get drunk and try to be archetypes. Except he's not supposed to be part of this, and the lines between observer and participant are getting horribly blurred. He moves her hand away gently and checks that no one saw them.

"We should..." But then she's taking his hand and pulling him to his feet, taking him away from the campfire and the others. And no one's together enough to remind him that he should be thinking with the parts that live _above_ the waist.

It's not far enough to her tent for his sense of propriety to kick in. It's dark and it smells of the earth and it feels like he belongs. But he really shouldn't be here. It's just that his "really good idea" of "bonding with the Athosians" somehow ended up with her coming on to him and so now he's standing next to her bed and she's telling him things she thinks are important. Teyla's eyes are dark and dilated and, Christ, she's stoned.

But so is he. One and one makes two. Two and two makes... a hand slips under his shirt and he closes his eyes. In the dark she is telling him things that he knows and doesn't know and he lets her undress him and it's not just his kink for powerful women. This is something new and old and something that just _needs_ to be done. It's a strange, warped logic that makes perfect sense.

"We used to hunt," she whispers, "And follow the pack so we could eat." She drops to her knees to work on his shoelaces. "And in those days, the hunters led the tribes."

He says "Yes," and he feels like he knows this story, shifting his feet to help her. He wonders how she can look up at him like that and yet it isn't in any way submissive. He is desperate to touch her and scared to try. On her feet again she isn't anything like tall enough to explain why he has the urge to pull himself upright.

"Children should be strong," she says, "But they should never have to run. This is why we bring food from the earth beneath us." And it isn't really her talking here, it hasn't been for a long time. This is old and terrifying and he doesn't understand any of it. When he shivers it isn't just the feel of her fingers working at his belt buckle. She pulls at button and zipper and peels away synthetic fabric.

She steps back and starts to work on her own clothes. She says "I am my people and this world," but all he really hears is the rustle of clothing against skin and he stares at more and more and more of her. And then she smiles and pushes him down and back and he's suddenly sprawled on her bed. Whatever he's doped on hasn't stopped him getting hard, and somewhere at the still-functioning back of his brain he wonders if it maybe even helped a little.

"And then the hunter was tamed by the fields..."

That sober part of his mind is still thinking of excuses to leave (not reasons, for there are plenty of reasons and that, the heroin haze can't quite obscure) but now she is whispering about furrows and harvests and sliding down onto him and _oh_...

He stares up at her, glazed eyes meeting, and she actually giggles. It catches him as well and even as she starts to move over him he can't stop smiling at something somewhere that probably isn't even funny.

Teyla's still talking but there are moans between her words and her hands are on his chest, keeping her balanced as he thrusts his hips up to meet her. He's surprised how loud his own sounds are, and he knows he should be worried about the noise, but he slides his hands up to her waist and wonders what the hell he did to get her this close this quickly. They move faster and harder and he can't even remember her name or his name or why she deigned to take him inside her like this. All that matters is the movement and the rhythm and the fact that she is shattering above him and tearing into his skin with her fingernails.

Now that he's proved himself to her, she pulls them over and wraps her legs around him. There's one more thing she needs from him, and she holds him tightly when he comes inside her. If he understood this for a moment, it's lost again, but he knows enough that his one thought at this moment is to feel so fucking _grateful_ to have been chosen.

He wakes up because someone is shaking him. The fact that it isn't Teyla is... almost certainly a bad thing.

"Can we go now?"

The light doesn't hurt as much as he expects, and he doesn't have to blink more than, oh, fifteen times."You always walk into a woman's bedroom without knocking?"Rodney stares at him, "There's no door."

"You know what I meant."

"Well, since it's the woman in question who sent me in here to get you, I think that's kind of a moot point anyway."

"Where _is_ Teyla?"

"Planting. I think it's some communal bonding thing. We weren't invited."

"Oh. That's..."

"Yeah. So, can we go home now?"

"I'm naked."

"I kind of assumed, but thanks for scarring me for life. I'll be back at the jumper."

"You're not gonna mention..."

Rodney just stops short of a glare. "Of course not. Why should it bother me that you jump into bed with Teyla and strand us here all night? Just don't blame me for us not getting back on time."

So, not a good start to the day.

He finds her in the field near the river, digging in the dirt with the rest of her people. He doesn't belong here, shouldn't even be watching. But she sees him, and she walks to the edge of the field and smiles a greeting.

"Can we talk?" Which is unoriginal, but he figures that's okay. Everything is new here, right?

She frowns at him. "Are we not talking now?"

"Well, yeah, but... I'm not really sure if you want to talk about it... here."

"Has something happened?" She looks so worried, and he takes a glance around to check that no one else is close enough to overhear.

"About... you know. Us." She frowns again and he stumbles on embarrassed. "I mean, we... you and I... and we should probably... talk."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. I mean, for one thing, we weren't... protected or anything, so... I mean..." He gives up an dgestures vaguely at her abdomen.

The frown clears and she smiles like she finally understands. His relief lasts until she speaks again. "Yes. Of course. Thank you."

He doesn't quite manage to hide his reaction and she adds with a sly little smile that, "I am certain I chose well when I took you to my bed."

And the worst thing is that it's meant to reassure him. Jesus Christ, she thinks he's worried that his boys are weak swimmers... He tries not to think, not to think about that at all.

"Is this..? You're still okay to work with me, right?"

"Of course. If I did not respect you as a leader I would not have chosen you." She looks at him like he's simple and he just _knows_ she's starting to wonder if she should have gone for McKay instead. He tries not to wonder if the Ancient gene's the thing that put him ahead in that one.He decides that the best thing to do is to humour her. "Well, I should be getting back to the city. I hope we... succeeded in our mission." _PleaseGoddon'tletthathavehappened_.

She smiles again, repeats her gratitude, and heads back across the field to her people.

So he now knows two things, connected and equally important; that she doesn't love him, and that he really doesn't understand her after all.


End file.
